


Alcohol

by p_itch



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Fanfic, Gift for my friend, Hetalia, M/M, PTSD kind of, USUK - Freeform, ffs I'm so bad at writing relationship stuff, really fucking shitty let's be completely honest, sdifhasdjfkadsfdf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_itch/pseuds/p_itch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am a terrible author. Most of this was written whilst I was in Peru. There probably isn't going to be a continuation. It's really bad. I'm sorry my gift for your birthday is not only 4 days late but also REALLY bad.<br/>Ugh.<br/>Like legit I'm still debating on if I want to post this. I may delete it later. God it's awful. I'm awful. Sorry for this terribleness. </p>
<p>Bluh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alcohol

The smell of earl gray tea was filling the small apartment, a soft ticking counting away the seconds until midnight. Arthur sighs as he pours a small amount of milk into his tea, tapping the spoon lightly on the rim of his mug. He slowly sips at it as he sits down on the worn couch, eyeing the tall, dark oak grandfather clock. Two minutes until midnight, and Alfred still wasn’t home. 

Only the fifth time in two weeks. And he always came back to the apartment reeking of cheap alcohol. 

The clock banged out twelve loud dongs, and still, Alfred wasn’t home. Arthur became aware of a rapid tapping, only to realize it was his foot, tapping against the wooden floor, and abruptly stopped. 

His cup of tea went cold by the time Alfred finally stumbled inside, noisily opening the door in his obvious drunken state. “Oh hey, Arthur,” Alfred grins at him, stumbling to the couch and flopping next to his lover. “Wassup?”

“I was waiting for you since nine, Alfie,” Arthur says tersely, frowning at his cold tea cupped in his lap. “What took you so long?” 

Alfred leans back, groaning as he stretches. “Just having a little bit of fun, babe...” he hums, closing his eyes and linking his fingers behind his head. 

“Fun that gets you home at...1:32 in the morning?” Arthur replies, still frowning. “And you stink.” 

“Well, it is my home. I can come back whenever I like. And so what if I like to drink?” Alfred mutters in response, his brow furrowing. 

“It’s unhealthy, Alfie. You keep getting massively drunk and then come home so late it’s the next day. You have work tomorrow, if you didn’t remember,” Arthur sets his untouched cup of tea on the coffee table with a sharp clink, before turning to look at his blue eyed, dirty blonde lover. He feels a swell of affection despite the stench of cheap beer emanating from him. 

Alfred sighs, unclasping his hands and leaning forwards, returning Arthur’s gaze. “I can do what I want, babe. It’s not as if I like my job, anyways...” he hums, blinking slowly. 

“Alfred...” 

“Just leave it alone, Artie, okay? I just want to cuddle and sleep, not talk about what I do in my free time.” Alfred snaps, then rubs his eye with the back of his hand, pushing his glasses up. “I’m tired, babe,” he murmurs. 

“You missed three dates we had planned. The movie date was on Friday, the star watching date we had planned on Sunday, and Monday’s park walk. Yesterday’s park walk, and you missed all of them because you were either hungover or out getting completely and disgustingly drunk!” Arthur shoots back, swiftly rising to his feet -- as does his anger -- so he can look down at Alfred. It doesn’t last long, as he stands up as well, looking down seven inches at the lanky Brit. 

“You can’t guilt trip me when you missed dates I planned as well, Arthur! Just because I'm having fun without you, you get all pissed off!” Alfred retorts, eyes narrowing. He wobbles on his feet, visibly drunk. 

“Your version of having fun sure has changed from when we first met. You barely even want to spend time with me anymore. Is alcohol more important, then?” Arthur says sharply, cold bitterness coloring his words. 

Alfred’s eyes narrow, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “And if it is?” He mutters darkly, frowning. “Not as if we actually do anything anymore, other than talk over tea for five minutes then go to sleep. We don’t even- we don’t even cuddle in bed anymore,” Alfred says, in an almost desperate tone. 

Arthur didn't hear it, though. His hands ball into fists by his sides, and he stares down at his shoes. “Is that so,” he murmurs, the perfect picture of calm -- on the outside. “You have alcohol, yes?” He says bitterly.

Alfred stares dumbly at him. “Huh?” He takes a pace forwards, reaching out as if to touch Arthur. He shies away from his hands, still frowning bitterly. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I’m not needed anymore. So I’ll be on my way.” Arthur says sharply, and turns swiftly away from the taller man. He planned to get his jacket and leave for the night, hopefully to persuade Alfred to stop drinking. And the Brit hoped it would work, more than anything. But Alfred just stared, his drunken state inhibiting his ability to recognize what’s going on. 

“Arthu-” the door slams, cutting Alfred off. He stares at the door, the discarded incoherent syllables from the sentence he was going to continue falling out of his mouth. He blinks rapidly, his vision swimming. He collapses onto the couch again, burying his head in his hands, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes. He’s smearing his tears over his face, and he hears the clock ring out two times. It’s two in the morning. 

Alfred stands, going to the kitchen to get a cup of water and go to bed. But when he gets there, he sees the stove top is still on, heating a kettle. The scent of tea emanates from it, tea that’s Alfred’s favorite (when he drinks tea, anyways). It makes Alfred feel even worse, including the banging that’s beginning to form from his night of drinking. 

“All I did was go get drunk...” he mutters, pouring himself a cup of tea with shaky hands, putting too much sugar and honey in it, mixing it sloppily and sipping at it slowly. He drops it on the counter, spilling most of the contents as the cup rolls, and falls to the floor, shaking. Arthur was gone.


End file.
